sometime before midnight
in a pub made smooth
with the burr of voices
a tapestry of sound
is woven warp and weft
of beer-mellow countrymen
and the honey-sweet
of the woman
who is beautiful because she sings

the air sparkles
gently golden as I sit
between these men
spinning as they speak
the cocoon of their language around me
the passion of their homeplace
the fire of their belonging
the pride of their man-ness
and the humility of their dislocation
we are
they say
in our own tongue
masters of words
but here we are mute
to express our souls

they cannot know these two
that the song of their speech
makes for me
a sanctuary
a place protected
fleetingly to rest

living a chivalry
long since gone from the world
men as men should be
their souls
in this one time
in this one place
speaking for themselves
of honour and love
and an ordinary kind of glory